Acapulco-Chicago Road Trip.rtf - Dave Hoekstra
Acapulco-Chicago Road Trip.rtf - Dave Hoekstra
Acapulco-Chicago Road Trip.rtf - Dave Hoekstra
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Nov. 10, 2002----<br />
ACAPULCO, Mexico--Like jalapenos in a tortilla, a middle-aged crazy streak of<br />
<strong>Chicago</strong> is tucked into the trendy Costa Azul neighborhood, three blocks from the<br />
Costera in <strong>Acapulco</strong>. The Costera is the happening strip of high-rise hotels and<br />
nightclubs that borders the <strong>Acapulco</strong> Bay.<br />
<strong>Chicago</strong>-based restaurateur Jimmy Rittenberg, ex-<strong>Chicago</strong> cop Jim Hansen, and<br />
former <strong>Chicago</strong> insurance broker Ron Norkus are partners at Mother Hubbards bar<br />
and restaurant, No. 10 Avenue Horatio Nelson in Costa Azul. Rittenberg and Kathy<br />
Fitzpatrick own Mother Hubbards, 5 W. Hubbard, in <strong>Chicago</strong>.<br />
Rittenberg has been vacationing in <strong>Acapulco</strong> since 1971.<br />
During spring 2001, Rittenberg and his pallies opened their <strong>Acapulco</strong> club in a<br />
former Spanish restaurant because the Costera reminded them of Lake Shore<br />
Drive. Costa Azul was reminiscent of Lincoln Park. Year-round, <strong>Acapulco</strong> recalls<br />
<strong>Chicago</strong> during those two months of summer.<br />
Rittenberg, 59, is best known in <strong>Chicago</strong> as founder of the 1970s Faces<br />
discotheque on Rush Street. Earlier this year I visited Mother Hubbards in Costa<br />
Azul with fellow Sun-Times reporter Carlos Sadovi (whom I bumped into at the<br />
Mexico City airport) and ex-Sun-Times sportswriter Mark Vancil.<br />
Rittenberg was hanging with a well tanned Johnny Blandino, one of the original<br />
general managers of the Palm Restaurant in <strong>Chicago</strong>.<br />
They were calling Norkus a "1970's Rush Street Hall of Famer." Under the chatter,<br />
War's "Low Rider" blared out of the CD jukebox. A total of 23 ceiling fans stirred the<br />
thick tropical air.<br />
I felt like I was on the set of "Ocean's Eleven."<br />
The Hubbard's <strong>Acapulco</strong> operation is a welcome touch of home, especially for<br />
tourists wanting to keep up with American sports through the cantina's eight<br />
televisions. Mother Hubbard's also serves the best burgers (green peppers, onions,<br />
celery salt, eggs) in <strong>Acapulco</strong>. The restaurant uses the same recipes used at<br />
Mother Hubbards in <strong>Chicago</strong>.<br />
During a conversation at the <strong>Acapulco</strong> club Rittenberg said, "A lot of <strong>Chicago</strong>ans<br />
come here, <strong>Acapulco</strong>ans and people from Mexico City who spend weekends here.<br />
This is a big <strong>Chicago</strong> town. New Yorkers go to Cancun. <strong>Chicago</strong> firemen and<br />
policemen live here. You retire from those departments and get a $35,000 a year<br />
pension. Down here, that spends $80,000. <strong>Acapulco</strong> is the best bang for the buck<br />
for developed tourism in Mexico."
Norkus remodeled the club and he operates the restaurant and bar when<br />
Rittenberg is back in <strong>Chicago</strong>. But that's only part of the story.<br />
Since 1995, Norkus has driven between <strong>Acapulco</strong> and <strong>Chicago</strong> nine times.<br />
NONSTOP, 36 HOURS!!!<br />
He has a private pilot's license, so he is not afraid to fly.<br />
Norkus is 61 years old. He is the Cal Ripken Jr. of the road.<br />
"I start with a cooler full of Coca-Cola, ham sandwiches and a case of Corona,"<br />
Norkus said. "I leave <strong>Acapulco</strong> about 10 p.m. I prefer driving at night, especially<br />
since so many people think night driving is dangerous and also because I can get<br />
through Mexico City and miss most traffic and corrupt police.<br />
" After Mexico City, it is clear sailing to Matehuala (about 10 hours from <strong>Acapulco</strong>).<br />
There, I stop for a few minutes and look at the sky. It is the most beautiful sky on this<br />
planet, almost like being in outer space."<br />
Norkus arrives in <strong>Chicago</strong> between 9:30 and 11 a.m. the second morning out. "It<br />
sounds funny, but I can predict my arrival time within 15 minutes," he said, quite<br />
seriously.<br />
Norkus has done six of the nine trips by himself.<br />
His wife, Maria, and 10-year-old daughter, Lucy, have participated in the neverending<br />
road trip twice. The other time Norkus brought along an illegal alien for<br />
companionship. He drives a white truck.<br />
He has a few games he plays to keep awake. While driving in Mexico, Norkus has<br />
one cold beer every 100 miles. "No more, no less," he said. "When I start to get<br />
tired, a cold Coke helps. The only stops I make are for gas, when I also use the<br />
washrooms. All Mexican stations have attendants who pump the gas. They do<br />
anything to get people working."<br />
Norkus also likes to calculate his estimated time of arrival to the next city.<br />
He explained, "The border from <strong>Acapulco</strong> is 930 miles. All calculations are done in<br />
my head while driving. Generally, I cross into the U.S.A. about 1:30 in the afternoon<br />
(about 15 1/2 hours after he left <strong>Acapulco</strong>). On the open roads in Mexico, you can<br />
run 80 to 100 miles an hour without problems. Once the border is crossed, you can<br />
run 80 through Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and Missouri. All those states have a<br />
70 mph except Illinois (65 mph). In Southern Illinois from the state line for about 50<br />
miles, the police are thicker than cement."<br />
One time a young Illinois state trooper stopped Norkus as he drove across the state<br />
line. "He looked like a teenager," Norkus said. "He had a heavy acne problem. He<br />
looked like he should have been an usher at a local theater. He stopped me for
going 72, along with not having an insurance card and expired plates."<br />
Norkus explained that there are no insurance card laws in Mexico, but he produced<br />
his insurance policy. He was off the hook on that charge. "I then explained my plate<br />
renewal check was going to get lost in the poor Mexican mail and I was going to<br />
Illinois to renew them," he said. "The second problem was out of the way.<br />
"We had a nice line of communication open. He was interested in my drive, and I<br />
explained I worked for an agency of the U.S. government and that I was on loan to<br />
the Mexican Federal Police for four years. I could not tell him what agency I worked<br />
for. But I did say I was the one guy in the group, that when we busted drug dealers,<br />
inventoried all the drugs and cash, kept it in my possession until it was secure, and<br />
then filed my reports with the U.S. government. He thanked me and let me continue<br />
on my way without any violations on my Mexican license."<br />
Norkus is crazy like a Vicente Fox.<br />
There are no direct flights between <strong>Chicago</strong> and <strong>Acapulco</strong>. He explained, "I see<br />
more people from <strong>Chicago</strong> driving to <strong>Acapulco</strong>. They can't get decent airfares, flight<br />
days and they don't like waiting in the airport. I can carry anything I want.<br />
"Nail clippers. Beer. Emory boards. And when I get there I save another $250 in<br />
rental cars."<br />
Norkus flies a private plane and rides his Harley-Davidson motorcycle around<br />
<strong>Acapulco</strong> on a daily basis.<br />
"I think all means of travel are safe," he said. "And the degree of safety all depends<br />
on how you do these things. I can guarantee you that you will get across the street<br />
more times crossing with caution than without.<br />
"Same with any other means, posse or no posse."